Never Enough
by TMI
Summary: I never knew about the whole thing with Peeta throwing her the bread. I never knew anything about them ever being in contact before he was called up onstage with her by Effie Trinket. Sure, I had seen him watching her before. I would have had to been blind not to see him watching her, my Katniss. But never once did I think I'd see the day when she looked back. Gale POV oneshot.


I believed her.

She told me the romance was an act, the wedding was an act, that her feelings for him were an act. She made me believe her.

And why wouldn't I believe her? I'd been her best friend, her confidante, closer than a brother to her for so many years. Peeta was just the baker's son, one of the richer kids of District 12, one who was actually well fed without clawing his way through life for it. She never mentioned him to me. Never.

And then the seventy fourth Hunger Games rolled around, and crushed me with it.

I never knew about the whole thing with Peeta throwing her the bread. I never knew anything about them ever being in contact before he was called up onto the stage next to her by Effie Trinket's voice. Sure, I had seen him watching her before. I would have had to been blind not to see the way he looked at her, at _my_ Katniss.

But never once did I think I'd see the day when she looked back.

The thing about Katniss is that I can never get her to kiss me unless I'm half dead.

That's exaggerating, but not by much. The first kiss in the woods after her first Hunger Games didn't count at all. I surprised her by starting it, and she didn't move at all as my lips touched hers. She couldn't react.

For days, while I was working in the mines hammering away in the dusty darkness, all I could think was if that was a good or bad thing. It was so amazing she was frozen in place, or she was so horrified she found herself paralyzed? The question burned away at me.

And then the whole deal with the post-flogging kiss. My back was on fire, filled with the sensation of white hot pokers being rolled liberally across my skin. The drugs they shot me with soothed the blaze a little, but it couldn't quench the whole fire. Not by a long shot.

But I guess I do have to thank the pain for one thing: it kept me awake for that second kiss.

The kiss that she gave me, she voluntarily leaned over and kissed me. It was the meaning of the action that made my stomach go warm. She kissed me.

And then everything was dark.

Peeta was lucky. He didn't have to get whipped for poaching to be rewarded with a kiss. He received them what seemed like constantly, effortlessly. Sure, I knew they were for the camera, but there was some authenticity in it. Most certainly on his part, but sometimes I could tell that Katniss was feeling it too.

That burned the most.

The kiss on the beach, in the second Hunger Games. That was one of the most genuine things I've ever seen Katniss do. That was not an acted, scripted, pretend kiss. That was real.

How could I ever compete with him?

And then in District 13, even without Peeta there, Katniss managed to find someone other than me. She couldn't stop worrying about the damned Boy with the Bread. What kind of a title was that, honestly? So he tosses a girl a charred hunk of bread when he's a kid. What of it? Why did that make him special? I helped Katniss survive too. I gave her so much more than a scorched loaf of bread.

But I digress.

District 13. The under-the-underground hideaway. My family was all huddled together in our small bunker space, attempting to get some sleep. My mother lay in the bottom bunk cuddling Posy, while Rory and Vick crammed themselves into the top space. I lay right beside them, gazing out blankly into the darkness and listening to the hundreds of deep, sleeping breaths around me.

Katniss had been playing the Crazy Cat game with Prim's pet again, with all the enthralled people circled around her watching. I had heard them whisper before of how they believed her to be half insane, certainly deranged, definitely violent, possibly dangerous. They believed her to be no more than a feral animal tamed into the image of a rebel leader. Some swore they never once spotted her in a good mood. I had heard a couple joking that the sound of her laughter might end the rebellion, but we'd never know because she only knew how to scream.

And yet, watching her screw with a cat's mind by making it chase a flashlight beam somehow endeared her to them more than any battle victory ever could.

Go figure.

I remembered this somewhat ruefully as I stared out into space, remembering the wicked smile on her face as she drove Buttercup literally up the wall in his efforts to catch the light. I remembered how she smirked as the little girls shrieked with laughter, recalled Prim "severely" admonishing her for taunting her kitty, smiled at the thought of her shrugging her braid impatiently over her shoulder as she dragged the flashlight along the stone floor. I remembered every detail about her, watching from a distance so she couldn't see me looking.

I always remember every detail about her.

A small set of noises brought me on the alert, snapping me from my daze of memory and making me reach for a weapon that wasn't there. I focused in on the area of the sounds, feeling thankful that my eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness. I knew these sounds anywhere. Katniss was coming towards my bunk.

I sighed a little in relief, quickly checking to see if my family was asleep before she arrived. My mother and Posy were out cold, and neither Vick nor Rory stirred when I touched their arms. Satisfied, I sat back down, leaning against the bunk and crossing my arms over my chest as I waited. Finally she had come to talk to me, after all this time in the bunker without speaking at all.

I could make out her silhouette now, slim and dark, moving lightly and swiftly through the bunks with barely a sound. But I knew her tread, never failed to hear and recognize even the softest sounds her footfalls made. Katniss was good, but I had spent years listening for those footsteps. I knew them more than by memory. They were in my heart.

I found myself holding my breath as she approached, braid swinging down her back like a panther's shifting tail as she moved. She looked restless, preoccupied, haunted, just as she had since seeing Peeta on the broadcast. I could cheer her up. I could lift her spirits a little.

Or would we only start arguing yet again?

Now she was only steps away, so close I could hear her soft breathing, standing out against all the rest. I smiled slightly to let her know I wasn't angry about my neglect, even though I secretly was a little annoyed. She didn't need to know that. I could overcome it to make her happy. Or at least, happier.

I should say something first, I thought. She'll already be embarrassed by coming over here. So I opened my mouth, ready to let fly a soft, teasing comment about how she looked more like a pacing wildcat than a rebel Mockingjay.

Then it died on my tongue, forgotten, because Katniss didn't stop. She didn't spare a glance my direction. It appeared that she didn't even notice me sitting here, about to speak. She just kept walking, decisively, without a falter in her step to let me know she had simply lost her nerve to confront me first.

She had no intention of talking to me.

I let the frozen smile fall from my face, swallowed my newly blossoming hurt, and craned my neck to see where she was going instead. Maybe she was only making a trip to the bathroom. That could be it.

But no. My hopes were crushed yet again, because she did stop at another bunk space. The space quartered for none other than Finnick Odair. And as she sat beside him under the dim safety light, talked with him, I felt a new emotion broil up in my chest.

Jealousy.

Oh, come on. Katniss couldn't settle for me, could she? Now she only seemed to like Hunger Games victors. I almost growled as Finnick reached over and folded her fingers around that stupid rope he's always toying with. Almost. But I held it in, seeing the genuine relief on her face as she slowly began to tie her own knots. Maybe it was some sort of neurotic victor therapy thing, tying knots. I felt a grudging respect for Finnick, watching him slowly calm her down from the broken, restless state she had worked herself up into. And as she passed me again, still not noticing my gaze on her as she walked by, I actually had to admit that I was thankful she had gone to him. He knew exactly what to say and do.

But the jealousy still simmered on.

Finnick Odair.

Would I ever be good enough?

**aha... I don't really like Gale, but as I was reading Mockingjay I started to feel kinda bad for him. He just can't win with Catnip, now can he?**

**review please? (:**

**~TMI~**


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